I love those train timetables at little railway stations, Standing on the wet platform and contemplating the infinity of the tracks. The distant howl of a locomotive. What, what? (No one understands the nebulous language of steam engines)

Passenger trains. Tank cars. Freight cars full of ore Endlessly pass by. Thus pass the days of your life through the station of your being, Filled with voices, noise, signals And the heavy ore of memory.

Translated from Albanian by Robert Elsie.